


Papa Loves Me

by solangewrites



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Dark, F/M, M/M, Mike is a Genius, Multi, Pain, Russia, Sad, Science, el has a shitty life, runaways - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2018-11-18 01:51:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 8,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11281251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solangewrites/pseuds/solangewrites
Summary: Dark fic containing every sort of evil. Experiment Eleven has spent her whole life confined in the lab. She has never dreamed of anything else. Papa wouldn't allow it. But one day, someone new comes. A boy. Eleven must question everything she thought she knew, including the primary tenet of her life- Papa.





	1. April 13th, 1976

**TRIGGER WARNING FOR SEMI GRAPHIC ABUSE, RAPE, ABORTION, MURDER PLOTS, INCEST, MIND-FUCKING AND OTHER FORMS OF PAIN**

**What did you expect? That Dr. Brenner is a grade A asshole. I am very proud of this story though. I have spent a while working on it. I have written most of it, but will be finishing up as I post. I’ll post once a week to start, but will work up from there.**

**Apologies to anyone who has thought I simply dropped off the face of the earth due to inactivity. I had a couple of family vacations, finals, my birthday, auditions for multiple shows, and the commencement of three summer classes.**

**The length of these “chapters” will vary wildly, just heads up. They are written more as diary entries/peeks into Elle’s mind than traditional chapters. Everything is first person! And probably filled with errors as I am too self-conscious of my own work to look for a beta. Also, the number under each date is her age. She was born sometime in November 1971.**

**So, without further ado…. Enjoy?**

* * *

 

**April 13 th, 1976**

5

Papa brought me flowers! I like the pretty flowers. I knowed how to smush up a can so he be happy. That make me happy, because I knowed he won’t have to punish me for being naughty if he be happy. I got a new gown too! This one has itty bitty dotties on it. My old was no dotties, so this is exciting! Papa use that word when I do a new thing. Then he kiss me. But he always do that anyway.


	2. August 8th, 1979

**August 8 th, 1979**

8

Papa keep making me do things. I get headaches. I tell him I hurt, but he tell me it is for the country. I don’t know who that is, but apparently she be very important and we must help her. He gets angry when I fail at something.

He is angry now, and it makes me feel frozen. It is my fault. The science men say my hair too long. It mess up the metal net they put on my head. I thought my hair was getting pretty now it be to my shoulders. And it keeps my neck warm.

Papa has left, so I curl up on my chair, hugging my knees to my chest. Then he comes back. With a nurse. The nurse have a black block in his hand. It has poky bits on one side, and a cord on the other. He stick the cord into the wall and pushes something on the block. It starts to buzz and I tremble. I not like that sound.

“Stay still Eleven.” Papa tells me. I do, until the man brings the block over to my head.

“Papa?” I whine, edging away from it.

“Don’t worry Eleven. He won’t hurt you. Don’t be naughty.” Papa holds my hand and I sit rigidly as the nurse brings the block to my head. I whimper as he runs it over my skull and the first lock of hair falls off of my head.


	3. December 25th, 1981

**December 25 th, 1981. **

10 

I am cold. The edge of the bed, a sharp metal presses into my thighs. I shiver. Food is late. I have been waiting longer than normal. Today has not been normal. Papa did not come. There were no men in coats to make me do things. It has just been me.

I shift where I sit. Did I something wrong? Is that why there is no food? My lip trembles slightly and I swallow. I have tried so hard to be good. To make Papa happy. I have done everything the men in coats have asked, I have eaten all the food, even when it is cold and does not taste good, I have held still when they gave me shots.

The door creaks open and Papa enters. My throat clenches slightly. Maybe it is a special day! A while ago, when all the men seemed taller, and I filled up less of the bed, there was a special day. Papa gave me a white and red stick that tasted sweet and spicy to my mouth. None of the men were there that day. Papa smiled and patted my head. I liked that day.

“Hello Eleven.” Papa smiles at me and my spirits lift.

“Papa.”

“I’ve got a present for you.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small book covered in bright shapes. I’ve seen things like that before. I know shapes, colors, and numbers very well.

He hands the book to me and I look it over.

“It’s a coloring book. There are shapes on the inside that you fill in with whatever color you wish.” He hands me three small sticks in red, yellow, and blue. I open the book. It’s full of pictures, of shapes. It is beautiful.

“Thank you Papa.” I set the book down beside me. He probably wants me to do something now.

“Don’t you want to color, Eleven?” He sits on the bed besides me and I stiffen slightly. He places the book on my lap, his hand lingering for a minute, before he pats my thigh gently.

I open the book and start filling in a triangle with red, aware of his hand on me. Slowly, though, I relax. He’s just being nice.

After a little while, Papa stands up and I set the book down.

“Kiss Papa goodbye.” He commands, and I obey. His skin is hot and wrinkled as always but I am firm in placing my lips against his. Papa has been kind today, and so will I.

“Goodbye Papa.” I say, sitting back down on my bed.

“Goodnight Eleven.”


	4. October 17th, 1983

**October 17** **th** **, 1983.**

12

There is a new man today. I notice him reading a chart when I am taken to be measured and weighed. Papa makes sure this happens every month. He wants me to stay healthy, so I can help with my powers.

The new man doesn't look very old. He looks more like me than the other men.

"Is this the prodigy?" I hear Papa ask one of the men as I stand on a scale.

"Yes sir. Got here from university just yesterday." The man responds.

"He's fifteen, correct?" Papa has his thinking face on.

"Yes sir. Youngest employee we've ever had."

"He's got what we're looking for." Papa replies before turning to look at me. I tense up and look at the ground. Papa doesn't like when I eavesdrop on his conversations. I step off the scale and go through all that I am asked to do.

Papa looks over the new man- no, boy- for a minute.

"Bring him over here." He tells the doctor.

"Michael. Come here. Boss wants to meet you." The doctor instructs the boy, who finally looks up.

"Yes sir." He walks over, a nervous smile on his face. He is tall, thin. He has thick black hair surrounding his face. His eyes are a deep, deep brown. Scattered on his cheeks are brown circles. I have not seen anything like them before. All the other men are one color throughout.

He does not see me.

"I'm Dr. Brenner." Papa shakes hands with Michael as the nurse tells me to remove my clothes. I take my gown and my plain white underwear off without any hesitation, trembling slightly in the cool room.

"Believe me, I know. Sir." Michael says awkwardly. Papa smiles tightly. "I'm Michael Wheeler. Everyone calls me Mike though."

"Well, Mike, let's hope that your work here is more representative of your IQ than your social skills. That was why we hired you, after all."

"Of course, sir." Michael agrees. "I'll just get back to work then." Papa nods, eyes already fixed on some new piece of data he's being presented with. Mike steps away from Papa and finally sees me. His cheeks turn red as he sees my body from across the room. Then his eyes meet mine.

I feel trapped as the doctor examines my body. His eyes are wide and confused and his mouth opens for a split second before snapping shut. He turns around and walks to where he was working previously. Why did he look at me like that? It was different than the others. His gaze had felt strange on my skin, making me feel like I was doing something wrong.

I consider this as I slip back into my clothing.


	5. February 3rd, 1984.

**February 3** **rd** **, 1984.**

13

I went in the bath today. I had overheard Papa talking to the scientists about senses and salt and such things before, but I didn't understand until today. I wish I had never had to find out.

Papa kissed me, stroking my head gently before taking me into the room with the other men. Mike was there. He looked less surprised this time, just confused. I felt his eyes on me the whole time.

The bad darkness hurt my head. I just want to sleep now. Sleep is a good kind of darkness. It doesn't hurt, it doesn't have bad men or scary noises. It is just warm, wanting you to come and rest in it. I am glad to comply.


	6. May 14th, 1984.

**May 14** **th** **, 1984.**

13

My chest is hurting. I think it is because it is growing. I don't know why. I just know that where it used to be flat, there are now uncomfortable lumps. I tell Papa of the pain.

"Your chest hurts?" He asks, hand hovering over the offending area. I nod and he places his large hand on me. It feels worse.

"Hurts, Papa." He squeezes for a second and I let out a squeak.

"Shhh. Be quiet Eleven." I obey and he lifts his hand off me.

"I'm sorry Papa." I whisper. His voice had sounded angry. I don't want to make Papa angry.

"Kiss me." He says. I do. He holds me in position for longer than normal. His tongue attacks my lips, feeling slimy and large. I whimper. I don't like it.


	7. May 18th, 1984.

**May 18** **th** **, 1984.**

13

Papa leads me to the test room. I sit at the table as he places a picture in front of me.

"You see this man, Eleven?" Papa inquires. I nod numbly. "I want you to find him. Can you do that for me?"

"Hurt him?" I ask. Papa made me kill a mouse last week. I cried for hours afterwards and then I had to go in the Bad Place.

"No, I don't want you to hurt him. I just want you to find him and listen to him. Repeat what he says back to me."

That doesn't sound too bad. I close my eyes and walk through the laboratory in my mind. I seek out the man's face. He is sitting in a small room, like the one in which Papa and I sit. I listen as hard as I can, eyes clenched shut. I hear his voice in an echo and I know I have succeeded.

I open my eyes. Papa smiles.

"Good."


	8. June 21st, 1984.

**June 21** **st,** **1984.**

13

I wake up and feel strange. There is a pain in my stomach unlike any I have ever felt. I stand up and walk to my table where my special things-my coloring book, crayons, and lion- and cup of water rest. I take a small sip of the liquid, then turn back to make my bed. I freeze when I see it, though.

Blood covers my one blanket. I start breathing quickly. Where did all that come from? I look at myself and see blood on my legs. I scream.

Papa runs into the room and stops, looking at me.

"Calm down Eleven."

"Papa, papa. It hurts." I sob, hunching over myself. I must be dying. So much blood, so much blood.

"Eleven." His voice is sharp but I can't stop crying. His hand smacks across my face and I reel back. Papa doesn't hit me very much. I shouldn't have cried so much. Papa knows best.

"It will be fine Eleven. Come." He takes my hand and leads me from my room. My cheek aches, but I appreciate the pain. It gives me something to focus on, besides my blood on my legs.

Papa takes me to the doctor's room, where I sit on the chair I always do, focusing on regulating my breathing.

"Dr. Brenner?" Mike pokes his head into the room and I flinch slightly.

"Yes. Michael. I need you take care of Eleven here. I believe she started her menstrual cycle this morning. Sort this out. I'll be back in half an hour." Papa walked towards the door.

"Um, sir, don't you think-" Mike starts to say.

"You have an interest in medicine, do you not?" Papa fixes the boy with a look. Mike nods. "Then fix her up." And Papa leaves.

"Okay." Mike wipes his hands on his white coat and finally looks at me. "Eleven is your name?"

"Yes." I nod. None of the other men have ever asked my name.

"Alright. So, Eleven, why don't you stand up, and, um, undress. I'll go get a washcloth." I do as he says. He comes back with several different sized pieces of white fabric in one hand and a damp washcloth in the other.

"Why you pink?" I ask, surprising myself as much as I do him. It is a valid question, though. He has a stranger color in his face.

He pauses in rubbing the dried blood off of my legs.

"Why am I blushing?" He is pinker than before. I nod.

"It's an involuntary reaction. Because you're um, naked."

"Naked?"

"You don't have clothes on, so, uh, your body is visible. Entirely." He reaches the juncture of my legs with his washcloth and pauses.

"This might… tickle." Despite his warning, I still startle slightly when the now cool cloth touches me sensitive skin. His face is redder than before.

Mike finishes cleaning the blood up with a sigh and hands me a pair of underwear with a chunky white rectangle stuck to it.

"This is a pad. It will absorb the blood." I don't know how this small piece of fabric can take care of all what was coming out of me, but I pull the underwear back on nonetheless.

"Why I am bleeding?" I whisper.

"It's your menstrual cycle. It's, um, it's basically your uterus changing out its lining so that if you were to become pregnant and a baby started to grow inside you…" I don't understand any of the words he's using, and I'm sure it shows on my face, as he stops talking.

"It's just a thing that happens to girls." He tells me as he slides my gown over my head.

"Girls?"

"Jesus, you really don't know anything." He sounds upset and I swallow hard.

"Sorry." I duck my head. I am stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

"No, no. It's just… hard to explain some things. So, um there are two types of people, men and women. Girls are like, young women, and boys are young men. So, I'm a boy, you're a girl, Agent Frazier is a woman, and Dr. Brenner is a man. Make sense?"

"Okay." I say, looking back up at Michael. His eyes are so warm.

"Alright, Dr. Brenner is probably waiting."

"Thank you." I whisper. That is something I know. You always thank someone when they do something for you, like when Papa gives me extra bread, or one of the men helps me with my suit.

"You're very welcome El."

El. I like the sound of that.


	9. July 31st, 1984.

**July 31** **st** **, 1984.**

13

I am getting better. I always do good in the bath, telling Papa the words. I sit at the table in the white room, tapping my fingers on the surface. I can tap them in the same way over and over again and it sounds nice. Soothing.

"Eleven." Papa enters the room and I stop. He might think it's annoying.

"Eleven, I have a special job for you today."

"Yes, Papa?" I sit up straight.

"There is a man here. A very important man. You have to show him how good you are. How obedient. Can you do that for me?"

Papa wants me to help him. I can do that.

"Yes." I tell him. Papa smiles, but the worried look stays around his mouth and eyes. That is not good. This must be a very important man.

"He's here." A voice speaks through the black box hung in the corner of the room. Papa adjusts his jacket before replying.

"Send him in." The door opens and a large old man with hair the color of Papa's-though he has much less of it- and glasses walks in.

"Brenner." The man's voice has a nasty edge to it, like someone served him a sour lemon. I had a lemon once. It was good, but a bit too sour at first. Maybe this man had his first lemon just now.

"Mr. Cull. It's an honor to have you here." Papa smiles at the man, but the lines are still there around his mouth.

"Sit down Brenner. I want results, not flattery." Cull heaves himself into the chair opposite me and squints into my eyes. I try to look back into his eyes, but his face is distracting. There's so  _much_  of it.

"Of course." Papa sits next to Mr. Cull.

"This is Experiment Eleven?"

"Yes."

"You say she's gonna be some super soldier or shit?" The man pulls out a large brown tube- a cigar, I think it's called- and bites down onto it.

"We believe that she could be of use to the country, yes." Papa shifts somewhat in his chair and I squeeze my hands together under the table.

"She don't look like much." I frown a little at that comment. I am very good. I can do lots. I'm special.

"Eleven." Papa's voice is sharp and I look at him immediately. "Show this nice man what you can do."

A scientist enters and places a soda can on the table. I begin to feel more confident. This is easy. I concentrate on the can and crush it without any trouble.

The man's mouth opens slightly before shutting once more. "Hm. A crushed can ain't gonna help us against the Commies." He leans back in his chair.

The scientist sets a small hamster on the table. Oh no. They want me to kill it.

"Papa." I whisper, pleading with my eyes at him. I can do other things. Help Papa hear what the men say, float things, turn off the lights. But I don't want to kill this creature. It's small and fluffy and squeaks in its confinement, darting around the edges of its cage.

"Kill it." Papa commands coolly. Looking into his steely blue eyes I know he won't change his mind. I focus on the squirming hamster. My eyes tighten and I feel the familiar throbbing start in my head. I concentrate on darkness, death, ending. The animal squeaks and I let out a whimper before it collapses.

I feel that familiar warmth trickling down my nose and feel faint as I wipe at my bloody nose.

"But how do we know she'll be obedient?" Mr. Cull persists. I rest my head on the back of the chair, closing my eyes. I'm tired. So, so tired.

"Trust me, she'll do anything I tell her to." Papa reassures him.

"Anything?" There is something hidden under his words, a subtext that makes me prickle all over.

"Anything." Papa confirms. "Eleven, do you remember what I taught you last week? I want you to do that for Mr. Cull now. Make him feel good."

"Papa-" I pull my head up and look at him, resolutely avoiding the greedy eyes of Mr. Cull.

"Do it Eleven." Papa gestures to me and I reluctantly pull my gown off as I approach Mr. Cull.

"This seems like a very fruitful project, indeed." He chuckles as I kneel in front of him.

Their laughter stings in my ears.


	10. August 5th, 1984.

**August 5** **th** **, 1984.**

13

"Hello Eleven." A soft voice greets my ears and my mattress dips ever so slightly. I scramble to the corner of the cot and turn to stare at whoever has woken me.

"Mike." I whisper. What is he doing here? I clutch my knees to my chest.

"Hi El. I'm going to be your tutor." He smiles at me.

I look at him. I don't know that word.

"I'm going to teach you things. Like, words, and numbers and stuff. To help you with your missions." I nod. He is here to help me learn. But not what Papa teaches me. I know it can't be the same. Mike is all soft where Papa is hard. I haven't know this warm boy for long, but I can tell that much about him.

"Would you come sit next to me?" He asks me. I eye him warily. Can I really trust him?

"Okay." I release my legs and scoot over next to him. I can feel heat emanating from his body and I shudder slightly. I am always so cold that his warmth makes me feel very odd.

"Do you know letters?" He points to a bunch of shapes on a piece of paper. I untense slightly. I see these all the time.

"Papa use them." I tell him.

"That's right. Well, these are letters and if you put them together they form words. You can write them, like this," He takes out a clicky pen and copies one of the shapes onto the paper, "and they represent sounds, which are what we use when we talk."

"Okay." I say. That makes sense.

"So the letters are organized in this system called the alphabet…" Mike begins to explain all about words, vowels and consonants to me. I soak up the knowledge. It's exciting. And he doesn't talk to me like I don't understand. He speaks like I'm someone important, someone special.

I like him.


	11. September 13th, 1984.

**September 13** **th** **, 1984.**

13

My lessons with Mike are very helpful. After just a month- he explains those to me as well- I know all the letters, the numbers up to 100, the colors, the shapes, and lots of simple words. Today, as a thank you to Mike, I'm going to make him a drawing with my crayons and a page from my coloring book.

I sit at my small table. Which page should I use? I settle on one with a big rectangle in the middle. Mike looks like a skinny rectangle, all long and stretched out. I giggle a little as I think of Mike having a rectangle instead of a normal torso.

I start to color the rectangle in with yellow. Yellow is a nice color. Happy and sunshine are both yellow words in my mind.

"Eleven." The door opens and I freeze in my coloring. Papa. I stand up quickly and close my book.

"Yes."

"How are you today, Eleven?" He leans in the doorway, a small smirk on his lips.

"Papa?" I am confused. Papa has never asked that question before.

"How do you feel?" He asks again.

"Fine." I respond. It is the first thing that pops into my head.

"Good, good." He crosses the room and sits on my cot. He pats his lap. "Sit, Eleven."

"Yes Papa." I acquiesce and he settles his hands tightly around my waist. It's uncomfortable, but I don't say anything. I don't want to upset him.

"You've been having lessons with Michael Wheeler, yes? To learn?"

"Yes Papa."

"Well we need to teach your body too. To become flexible and strong."

I nod in understanding. My mind is strong, and my body needs to be the same way.

"Your teacher's name is Troy. He's going to be showing you how to fight." Papa strokes my chest lightly and I try not to wiggle too much.

"Okay."


	12. September 26th, 1984.

**September 26** **th** **1984.**

13

Troy throws a punch at my face and I just barely dodge it. Sweat trickles down the back of my neck. Papa gave me a new outfit for training. A plain white tank top, matching shorts, and a pair of white socks and sneakers. They are much better to move in than my bare feet.

"Come on, you can do better!" Troy screams into my face. I'm distracted and he lands a hit to my stomach. I crumple over for a second. I can't stop though. He'll hit me more, and then Papa will be sad and will send me to the bad room.

I kick upwards into his crotch and he lets out a grunt before attempting to grab my ankle. I stumble upright, but he still manages to grab me. He yanks me close to him so I can smell the stink of his body and feel the sweat on his skin.

I still. What is he going to do? Should I keep fighting? I glance towards Papa, but he simply stares at me.

"What are you gonna do now, slut?" Troy breathes heavily at me. I'm torn. What is the right thing to do? What does Papa want me to do?

I act on instinct, leaning in and planting my lips on his. They taste as bad as I thought they would, and I pull back with relief.

"You  _are_  a slut." Troy lets go and stares at me, astonishment in his eyes. I take advantage of his shock to land a blow in his stomach and to his head before kicking him in the back of the knees.

He lands on the ground and I pant. That was hard.

"I hadn't thought of that angle." Agent Frazier remarks as she approaches me with Papa. Troy groans and starts to stand up.

"You're dismissed Harrington." Papa doesn't even look at him, eyes stuck on me.

"Yes, that would certainly work." Papa smiles slightly as he examines me.

"She is developing rather well, but I'd give her a few more months to train." Agent Frazier murmurs.

"Yes. Come, Eleven. You've done well today." Papa gestures to me.

"Thank you Papa." I step off the mat and stay next to him as we walk to yet another white room.

"When was the Yekaterinburg trip?" Papa asks Frazier.

"It was planned for January."

"Good. We'll just have to work extra hard these next few months. You can do that, can't you Eleven?"

"Yes Papa." I nod. I don't know what they're talking about, but Papa seems happy, so I won't question it.

"Should we get her some more normal clothes to start training in? So she becomes used to them?"

"Yes. Get her nice things. We want her to look proper at that party."


	13. September 31st, 1984.

**September 31** **st** **, 1984**

13

"Hello Mike." I say shyly as he enters the training room.

"Hi El." He smiles at me as he sits in his chair, setting a large stack of papers on the table. I fidget nervously with the hem of my dress, a new one Papa gave me. It is simple, dark blue, knee-length with long sleeves and a fitted bodice, but it makes me feel good to wear it.

"Wait… are you wearing a new dress?"

"Yes. Like?"

"Uh… yeah. Looks nice. I, uh, thought you might be a little cold in the hospital gown."

"Yes." I nod, smiling a little. He thinks I look nice! That makes me feel nicer than how I look. My hair is still short and ugly, and dark bruises mottle my arms and legs, but that doesn't matter as much if I get to wear a dress that looks  _nice_.

"Smile looks good too." His face is a little pink now. I've learned that

"Thank you." I grin at him, making my smile as wide as possible.

"Eleven." Papa stands in the doorway, a scowl etched on his face. I feel guilty. Maybe I'm not supposed to smile.

"Papa?" I say.

"Dr. Brenner!" Mike stands up quickly, adjusting his white coat.

"Sit down Wheeler." Papa looks at the two of us for a minute. "How clever are you?"

"I think I'm… pretty smart sir." Mike shifts uncomfortably in his seat. I watch the encounter with curiosity.

"Clever enough to help her sneak into Russia, pose as the daughter of a diplomat there, infiltrate a party hosted by a top Communist official and assassinate him?"

"You mean… kill someone?"

"Precisely."

"Uh, yes sir."

"We need someone medical, and I don't want to send any of our more experienced men. Can I trust you to serve this country and this mission faithfully?"

"Yes sir."

"Papa?" I interject warily. They both look at me with surprise.

"Mike is smart."

"Is he now." Papa looks at me with a considering expression.

"Yes. He teach me."

"You're dismissed Wheeler." Papa waves his hand at Mike.

"Sir, I haven't had a chance to go over today's lesson with-"

"Get out." Papa's voice is sharp and Michael gathers up his things quickly before leaving. As soon as he is gone, Papa slaps me sharply. I squeak.

"You speak when spoken to."

"Sorry Papa." I whisper. I don't stand up. That will make him more upset if he hasn't told me to do it.

"Come here." He pats his lap and I sit, already feeling the telltale hardness underneath me.

"I don't want to hurt you Eleven. You know that. You must be a good girl. You don't want to be punished, do you?"

"No Papa."

"Aren't you glad that I gave you such a nice dress? Don't you want to thank me?"

It feels gross when Papa calls my dress nice. He doesn't say things the way Mike does.

"Yes Papa." I whisper, reaching around to undo the buttons on the back of my dress.

"Good girl."


	14. October 16th, 1984.

**October 16** **th** **, 1984**

13

There are a lot of hard words in my books. Not always because they are long or com-pli-cated, but because I just don't know what they mean. I've come across one just know. It is about two small people, children, like me. But they are not co-workers. Or sib-lings, which means they have the same Mama and Papa. They are different.

"What is friend?" I ask Mike, placing my finger under the word.

"What?" He looks surprised and scoots towards me, making my palms start to sweat.

"Friend."

"Oh. A friend is… someone you trust with anything. They're there when you need them. You can give each other cool stuff, like comic books and trading cards. And friends don't lie."

"Do you have friends?" I press further. A friend sounds like a good thing to have. Do  _I_  have friends?

"Yeah, of course. I have Will, Dustin, Lucas- they're my friends from high school- and everyone at college, and…. You're my friend, El." He stammers the last bit of his sentence.

"Oh. Thank you." I feel heat warm my cheeks as I smile. It is nice to be a friend.


	15. October 28th, 1984.

**October 28** **th,** **1984.**

13

I am going 'outside' today. The doctor men told Papa that I should for my health. I don't really know what that means, but apparently it has something to do with how my skin is much lighter than everyone else's and how small I am.

My hair is getting longer though. That is a good thing. And I am getting better in my training. Instead of just Mike and Troy, I now have two other teachers, Chief Hopper and Ms. Max.

Hopper teaches me how to lie. Lying is when you say one thing, but you mean another. Papa called it acting, but Hopper told me that acting is just lying with you whole body, and not only your mouth.

We play a lot of poker.

Ms. Max teaches me 'people skills'. Apparently, my 'people skills' are rusty. She shows me how to make people laugh, how to move gracefully, how to dance, and even how to eat the right way. And she is funny. But she has hard edges under her grace and humor.

She knows how to make someone hurt. But she doesn't make herself proud of it. Its just a fact of her existence. She is warm to me. And I know I can trust her.

I know many words now. I can read the signs I see in the rooms, I can write my own stories about me and Papa, and I can read Mike's nametag. He is sitting on the chair in my room. I am on my cot. We are waiting for Papa to go outside. Mike is sort of my protector now. Papa likes him. Thinks he's real smart.

"Mike…Mike-hull. Wheel-er." I whisper as I make out the letters. "Joon-yur sci-ence-test." I look up to see if I did it right. A smile lights up his face and I feel a trembling in my stomach. That's another thing I've learned. When I do something right and Mike is proud of me, I get this funny feeling in my stomach. Like there are little mice running around inside me.

It doesn't just happen when he's proud of me. Sometimes it comes just when his hair looks very fluffy, or he wears that blue shirt I like, and quite often during my bleeding time, for no apparent reason. I have not had a bleeding for two months though, for which I am glad.

And I am getting fatter. The doctors say that is a good thing. I just notice that my chest lumps are round now, instead of just being pokey. It's an improvement. Well, except for the fact that Papa touches them more now. Touches me more. But that's okay. It's just my body. And anyway, he's my Papa. My Papa loves me. That's why he does everything. For me. And the country, whoever that is.

"Good job!" Mike congratulates me. "Your reading is getting great." I duck my head at the praise.

"Wheeler. Eleven. Come." Papa gestures to us. I slip on a pair of flat shoes to go with my loose gray jumpsuit and follow him. The protection men surround us. Papa says they're here for my safety, but I feel scared nonetheless. They are so big. Mike, Papa, and all the scientists are skinny, but these men are large and spread out. Like the yellow paste I smear on my bread for breakfast. They feel rough.

Papa walks briskly through white hallway after white hallway, the doors getting progressively thicker as I shuffle after him. The last door takes a code  _and_  a swipe from a key card. Then Papa takes a strange square device and holds it behind my ear, where I feel a stranger buzzing.

"What's that, Papa?" I inquire gently. He doesn't reply and I don't press it. I want to see the outside.

One of the big men pulls the door open and I follow Papa out of it, Mike trailing behind us, scribbling something onto a notepad.

Then I am blinded. A sudden rush of cold greets my skin and I gasp, squeezing my eyes shut. I open them a few seconds later because I desperately wish to know where I am. It doesn't seem spectacular at first. I stand in a gray rectangle, white building on three sides, and several rows of barbed wire fencing on the other. There is some green far beyond the wire. That is interesting, but not amazing.

Then I look up. A blue sheet seems to have been thrown over the top of the world. White swirls flow through the sheet, looking soft and comfortable. In the corner, reigning supreme, is a massive yellow-white sphere. I glance at it for a moment, then cover my eyes when it hurts. It is beautiful.

"Eleven. Walk some laps." Troy barks from where he has appeared at Papa's side. I obey, eyes trained on the top-the sky, I remember Mike calling it- as I go. I want to spend forever in this cool blue swirl. Forever.


	16. October 31st, 1984

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: this chapter is in no way reflective of the author's personal views on this topic, and the author freely admits that she is no medical expert, and is instead relying on Google, wikipedia, and the story being from the perspective of a very emotionally distressed and abused young girl. And apparently the author has decided to use the third person, like a pretentious asshole. ;) what I mean to say is- please don't come @ me for this. I don't claim to know jackshit. Enjoy!

**October 31** **st** **, 1984.**

14

I sit still on the medical table, mind idly running through a math equation Mike has been teaching me.

"Eleven, when was the last time you bled?" Papa asks sharply, turning away from a chart. They X-rayed me to see how my bones are. Something about density and flexibility. I don't pay much attention to their conversations. They're usually boring, and anyway, I need to leave brain space for my training. Papa says it is very important I remember everything they teach me.

I hold up two fingers. He inhales and places his hands on his hips.

"You don't think…?" The doctor trails off, his expression quizzical. "She's just a girl."

"Experiment Eleven is extremely important to this country. Check." Papa looks grim and I bite my lip.

They have me lay down on a metal table and pull my gown up to spread a cold ooze on my stomach. I count backwards from 500 as the doctor waves a strange wand over my stomach. I like how it looks curved. It makes me feel pretty. No one else except Max has curvy bits, and I always hear the boy doctors talk about how pretty she is.

I have many more curves than her, so maybe I'm pretty! Though I don't think that's really true, it makes me smile slightly. It's a fun thought to entertain in my mind home.

"Dr. Brenner." The doctor inhales and gestures Papa over, a shocked look on his face. He points to something on the screen and I tilt my head to the side ever slightly. I just want to see what they're talking about.

The screen is black, small numbers and scribblings around the side. The inside is a greyish triangle with some strange white shapes in the middle. What is that? I squint and barely keep from gasping. Is that a face? Who, or what, are they looking at?

"Looks like she's about 17 weeks along." The man stutters. Papa glances at me for a split second. Something flashes across his face. A look of pure disgust, then pain, then anger. And, perhaps, a second of sorrow. Then it is blank once more.

"Terminate it." He orders. What are they talking about? What do they want to end? I don't like how his words sound.

"Are you sure-"

"Do you want to keep your job?"

"Yes, sir." The man is quick to respond.

"Then terminate it. I want her fully operational by the 2nd."

"She's very young sir, we don't know how her body will-"

"Do it."

"Papa?" I squeak. "What is it?" He fixes me with a look.

"Be quiet Eleven."

"Papa." I try to sit up, be he shoves me down, not even looking at me. My head hits the metal and a pain shoots through my tongue along with a metallic taste. I whimper. I have not felt pain like this in months. I had been good for so long, Papa had no reason to hurt me.

But I have done something wrong. There is something wrong with me. It must be related to the tiny face on the screen. Wait. They were asking about my bleeding. Mike said some weird things about that when I first experienced it.

I dig back through my memories and let out a breath. He said that babies grew in girls. I didn't know what those were then, but now I do. There was one in one of my school books. They are tiny people made of bits of a Mama and a Papa.

Papa is speaking to some one on a phone.

"We are terminating the pregnancy." Cold rushes through my body. He must be talking about me. That… that face on the screen. It is inside me. My hand darts to my stomach, where I feel a gently fluttering, like I feel around Mike. There is a baby in me. It is mine. I am a Mama.

A sob tears from my throat.

"Papa?" I wail. He can't be wanting to take my baby away. He loves me. Why does he think this will help me? Papa leans over me and strokes my hair.

"Shhh, don't worry Eleven." His voice is soothing now, but it rips at my flesh. Over his shoulder I see the doctor collecting strange looking devices.

"Don't hurt baby." I choke out, pushing his hands away. He straightens up, face stiff.

"I don't know what you're talking about Eleven. There is no baby. It's just a blob inside you, but it will become trouble if we don't get it out." He turns to the nurses standing about the room.

"Strap her down to the operating table." He indicates me. I pull myself off the table and dash for the door. I am nearly there when a man grabs my arm roughly. I scream as I hear it pop out of its socket. I glare at him and push him aside with my mind, scrabbling for the door handle.

I yank the heavy contraption open and dash down the hallway.

"No, no, no." I pant, skittering along, feet cold and head buzzing. I can't let them get me.

I run past white room after white room. I glance Mike in one, and I think about going to him. I'm sure he would help me. But then he'd get hurt. And the men are fast approaching. I hear them behind me.

I run up a flight of stairs, feeling my strength ebbing with every step. I reach a door that won't open and pound my fists against it.

"Help! Help me!" I shriek until my voice goes. I huddle against the door, arms tight around my middle. I feel the fluttering again. Like my baby feels my sadness. She wants to help her Mama. I gasp, tears rolling down my cheeks hot and salty.

Metallic blood drips from my nose, running into my mouth and leaking from the edges.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I love you." I whisper to my baby until the men come. "Mama loves you."

They grab my arms and I wail as they drag me off.

I would have named her Olivia. And she would have loved me.

Papa told me it wouldn't hurt. He uttered that over and over again as I lay on the table, drugged and numb. He thought that was what I was worried about. I would take the pain of a thousand thank yous for one minute with my baby. I never had a choice, though.

They don't put me all the way under, either. Apparently there's too much of a risk that I wouldn't come back. That sounds wonderfully tempting to me. But no, I must survive. To help. For the country. For Papa.

I lay there as they push things inside me, shove me apart, and suction her out. I feel  _everything_. And, worse, I see her. Bits, at least. She could have been pretty. Been someone I'd be proud of. I won't know.

They put me in a room alone. After a bit of arguing, they decide to keep me in my restraints. Even if they'd loosed me, I would've done what I do now. I stare at the ceiling. I wonder if Mike knows. I hope not. I don't want to know how dirty I am. How empty. How lost.

Ripped apart and set loose to the smokey skies.


	17. November 1st, 1984

**November 1** **st** **, 1984.**

14

I wake up with no recollection of falling asleep. I start to sit up, but a pain shoots through my abdomen and I fall back to the cot, memories rushing through my head. My eyes burn, but I blink harshly. There is no room for weakness here. Weakness ends in bruises, dead babies, and pain. I cannot, I will not give in to that. I must be perfect. I must stop making mistakes.

The door creaks open and I shut my eyes, flexing my hands. I'm still bound.

"Eleven?" It's Papa. My lips tremble. No. No. No.

"How are you feeling Eleven?" His voice is soft and I crack slightly. He does care. He just didn't want another baby. I'm too much of one. Always needing to be fed and watered and exercised. Stupid baby. I choke. I am useless.

"Shh, shh. It's all right. Papa's here." His hand strokes over my head, the hair that's begun to grow there.

"It hurts."

"It will be better soon. We had to do it. To help you. It's very unfortunate that this had to happen, but it was necessary. You are very important to this country. I have a story to read you Eleven. One of those nursery rhymes we used to like so much." My eyes slide open, tracing over his face as he begins to read.

Babies are made of Mama and Papa. Would Olivia have had white hair?

"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Humpty together again."

His words are nonsense, running together, creating stories I cannot understand. After about three more stories, Papa is done. He kisses me possessively before standing up. I just close my eyes.

"She was mine." I mumble to myself as Papa starts to leave.

"What did you say?" His voice is stern.

"She was my baby." My spark bursts out for a moment. Long enough for his eyes to darken and the men to grab me.

The bad room is just as dark as I remember. But I don't scream like I used to. I just cry quietly, huddled in a corner. I have shown him I know. And now I will be perfect. I will help the country.


	18. November 2nd, 1984.

**November 2** **nd** **, 1984**

14

It feels like an eternity that I lie in the bad room. It is like the bath, but worse. It is a dark brown, a color that seems to suck me away from me. The walls are perpetually cold, icier even than my hands. They almost burn to touch, they are so cold.

But it is not quiet in here. There is a drumming, beating fast and persistent. Always there in the corner of my mind.  _Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap_  until I cover my ears and start counting loudly to myself. My eyes clench shut when I see a rivulet of blood streaming down my thigh, staining my torn gown.

"I will be good. I will be good. I am good. I can do good. I will be good. I will love Papa. Papa will love me.  _I will be good_." I chant feverishly to myself as if this will make the words come true.

I start to feel weaker as blood continues to seep out of me. I rest my head on the floor despite the nasty goosebumps it causes on my flesh.

I thought 'goosebumps' was a funny word. I got them once when Mike touched my arm accidently. He wasn't cold though. No, he was very, very warm. Like sunshine. And smiles.

"What is… goosebumps?" I had asked, nose wrinkling in confusion. That was an odd word.

"They're these little dots you get on your skin. When, you're cold, or, um nervous or something." He chuckled.

"Why called that?"

"Because there are little geese under your skin and when you experience a strong emotion, they want to help out. Those are their little beaks poking up under your skin."

I guess I looked frightened at that, swatting at my skin, trying to keep the geese from poking out of me.

"No, no, I was joking El. There aren't actually geese in you. It's just, uh, your hair follicles pulling up. It's totally safe."

"Oh." I considered my arm for a minute, the small dots. Then I smiled a little. "You are goose." He looked surprised at that, my feeble attempt to joke.

"Uh, yeah. Now, um, lets move on to division…"

I smile faintly at the memory. Mike is so kind. But he is weak. That's what Papa would say. He can't fight or make people do things like Troy or Papa. He can't even squish cans and move things like I can.

My eyelids flutter and my stomach roils. I try to sit up, but I cannot. Smelly white ooze leaks out of the side of my mouth. I choke on it and it sprays across the floor. I squeeze my eyes shut. I may not be able to get rid of the stench, the cold, or the everpresent drumming, but I can clear my mind of the nasty brown walls.

Sleep. Sleep is a familiar friend of mine. Always there for me.


End file.
